


An Island in the Sun

by Cameo (CameoSF)



Category: Return to Treasure Island, Treasure Island & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CameoSF/pseuds/Cameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after their adventures on Treasure Island, Jim Hawkins and Long John Silver's attempt to return is interrupted by another confrontation at sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Island in the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Return to Treasure Island is a mini-series from the '80s. This story picks up at the end of the pilot movie, and goes a different direction entirely.

 

They'd been at sea for hours, with no plan in mind except to put distance between themselves and the _Saracen'_ scannons. Captain Parker eventually selected a direction, and if there was a reason behind it, Jim Hawkins couldn't prove it. He had finally come down off the endorphin high of battling the Spaniards, and all he could think of was what he'd lost due to their attack. Having the traitor Moxon, also known as Don Esteban, sitting right across from him only made it worse. The fellow’s red jacket had cried out like a beacon, as if providing the Spanish Navy a clean target should they decide he was worth more as a martyr than a hostage.

The others seemed more resigned to their fate than Jim, no doubt due to long experience having their prospects scuttled by the indifferent hand of fate. The Captain spoke as if he were still in command, and no one contested that. The Dutch businessman, Vanderbrecken, was pragmatic, willing to take a turn rowing, as was Ben Gunn. Long John Silver was not asked to assist; he stayed seated astern, his knife unwavering at Moxon's throat. It was only Jim who wanted to return to their ship and take on the enemy a second time.

"Be still and bide yer time," Silver advised, seeing Jim's impatience. "You'll get yer chance at the filthy blackguards." He prodded Moxon with the tip of his blade, his toothy smile more ominous than affable. "I'll let you have this one if you want. 'E's of no further use to us now."

"We'll not kill in cold blood," Captain Parker chided at once. "We're better than that."

Moxon opened his mouth as if to speak, but another prod from Silver kept him quiet. Jim almost wished the young man would provoke the pirate into slitting his throat; it would save them all from similar temptation in the long run.

It was Ben who first spotted land. He'd been peering to the east for several minutes before Jim began to wonder what had caught his attention. When he too saw what appeared to be an inhabited island, he cried out and pointed. "There! Land, ho!"

"To starboard, if you please," Parker requested, and Vanderbrecken obeyed without discussion. With a man such as he at the oars, they'd be within hailing distance in no time.

They all eyed the island apprehensively as the longboat approached it; these days there was no telling what to expect. Pirates and aggressive natives weren't the half of it - as had just been demonstrated, hostile Spaniards were abroad in these waters. They'd been known to raid small settlements and drive off the inhabitants, or even to enslave them in the name of religion. There were a number of crude huts erected a dozen yards from the water's edge, but from the lack of movement on the beach, Jim feared the worst.

"What do you think, Captain?" he asked as they paused just off shore. The tide would carry them in if they didn't decide soon.

"I think we have no food or water, and the sun is going down," Parker replied matter-of-factly. "Our best chance is to go ashore."

"And this one?" Silver inquired, nudging his charge. "Shall we leave him for the sharks?"

"No, we shall not." The Captain frowned at Silver, but Jim suspected the pirate was merely trying to keep Moxon on edge. In fact, their erstwhile first mate was pale and a bit wide-eyed now that it appeared he would remain with them, possibly to be imprisoned.

"It looks deserted," Ben offered unnecessarily.

"But there is shelter and perhaps some provisions," Parker declared. "We'll go ashore."

Vanderbrecken resumed rowing.

No one came to the beach to greet or challenge them, and once on land, they determined there was no one left to do so. Whoever had constructed the huts had been either frightened away or abducted long ago: they'd left nothing behind except a few rough tools and utensils. A handful of the huts would be salvageable with some patching and other repairs, but not much else.

"We'll stay here till another course of action presents itself," Parker announced after looking around. "Rest first. In the morning we'll locate food. Any objections?"

Jim could not keep silent. "We have to alert the militia that the _Saracen_ has been stolen! Senorita Isabella is still on board--"

Moxon spoke up for the first time since he'd been forced to join them. "She will not be harmed. She is a noblewoman, and the Spanish respect their nobility."

"And little else, by the looks of it," Vanderbrecken murmured. He faced Captain Parker. "How will we be certain that this creature does not attempt to murder us in our sleep?"

"Silver will keep watch over him--"

"Begging yer pardon, sir," Silver broke in, "but in my humble opinion, it would be easier on us all if we did away with him now and be done with it."

Parker scowled and gave up admonishing him. He turned back to the Dutchman. "Are you willing to stand guard over him?"

Vanderbrecken's expression was somewhat alarming. "I'd be delighted to."

Moxon stepped back. "I do not trust him," he protested. "Captain--"

"You have no say in the matter," Parker reminded him. He wouldn't face the younger man, and even Moxon seemed to realize how furious the officer really was.

"I'll mind him," Ben volunteered next, and was roundly ignored.

"I'll do it," Jim heard himself say. By process of elimination, there was no other choice. Neither Silver nor Vanderbrecken could be counted on to keep the Spaniard alive, Parker should not have to be saddled with the man who had pretended to work beside him for months, and Ben… Jim hated to admit it, but Ben would be less effective than no guard at all. "I'll need a weapon."

"He'll be securely bound," Parker stated, and watched approvingly as Vanderbrecken tied Moxon's arms behind him with his own belt. Moxon had stiffened when the Dutchman reached for him, but in full view of the others, Vanderbrecken did not attempt anything untoward. He simply bound Moxon's wrists as tightly as the young man could stand. Jim made a mental note to slacken them later; he detested the villain, but he didn't want to see him to lose his hands.

"Ben and I will take this hut," Silver decided aloud, indicating the nearest structure. He hobbled over to it across the sand, then looked back. "Ben, me friend, are you coming?"

Ben hesitated, automatically looking to Jim for guidance. Back in England Jim had been his employer, but here Ben was his own man, as he had been when they’d originally met aboard a pirate ship.

"It's your choice," Jim said. He wondered why Silver would invite Ben to share his space, unless it was to forestall either Parker or Vanderbrecken inviting themselves. After all, it was unlikely the Captain would allow a convicted felon such as Silver free run of the island at night.

"Will you be all right with that one?" Ben asked anxiously, nodding at Moxon.

"Yes, don't worry about me." Jim had noticed a sturdy tree limb lying outside the hut he intended to occupy; it would serve as a deterrent should the traitor try to escape.

If Captain Parker wasn't satisfied with the arrangements, he was too weary to say so. "Mr. Vanderbrecken, it seems we are to be bunk-mates."

"For now," Vanderbrecken agreed with another glance at Moxon. The latter actually inched closer to Jim, as if the youngest of them all could shield him from the Dutchman's wrath. Vanderbrecken merely bowed. "Good-night, gentlemen."

Both he and Parker disappeared into another of the huts. Ben followed Silver's path with a last uncertain look at Jim. Then Jim was left alone with his prisoner.

"If one hair on Senorita Isabella's head is harmed, I will see that you hang," he said softly, meeting Moxon's dark gaze. "It was she who should have come with us, not you. You should have stayed on that ship with your gang of cut-throats."

Moxon raised his chin, apparently regaining some of his nerve now that he wasn't being threatened on all sides. "That was my intention, if you'll recall. It was not my idea to come with you!"

"It was not my idea either!" Jim replied angrily. He shoved Moxon towards the opening of the hut. "And if you give me any trouble, I'll let Vanderbrecken have a go at you."

The hut turned out to be less stable than Jim had at first hoped, but it would most likely stand through the night. There were musty pallets of dried rushes already spread on the floor, and fortunately the worst of the local insects had abandoned the place along with its residents. Jim retrieved the tree limb and made sure Moxon got a good look at it before assigning him one of the pallets.

"I'm going to loosen your bindings," he added, doing so. Moxon didn't attempt to get free, possibly too surprised by the gesture to take advantage of it. "Now lie down and don't get up again till I say you may tomorrow morning."

Moxon obeyed, awkwardly dropping to his knees, then stretching out on his side on the sparse padding. The sun had gone down, but enough moonlight came through gaps in the roof to show him staring at Jim in confusion. Jim settled down on another pallet closer to the open doorway, suddenly registering how exhausted he was. He tapped the limb on the ground a few times to emphasize its presence, then drifted into a restless sleep that lasted till dawn. Nothing - and no one - disturbed him.

He was the last to rise, if one didn't count Moxon, who was awake but prone when Jim opened his eyes. The sun was halfway up the eastern sky, its heat creeping in through the cracks and warming the hut unbearably. Jim sat up and removed his jacket, only then noticing sounds of activity from outside. Curious what his companions were up to, he glanced out, then recalled Moxon.

"Stay here," he instructed. "If I see you outside this hut, your feet will be bound as well as your hands."

"May I take off my coat?" Moxon asked, much subdued since the previous night. He looked miserably hot, so Jim compromised: he pulled the fellow's jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. It remained wrapped around his wrists, but most of him would be marginally cooler. "Thank you. May I have some water?"

"I'll go find some," Jim told him, realizing that this would be another way to control the man. A few days without food or water, if necessary, and the Spaniard would undoubtedly behave himself.

Outside it appeared that progress was being made, both towards rescue and towards survival on the island. A signal fire consisting of shore debris had been built on the beach, which Silver was busy tending. Ben was clambering atop one of the huts, filling in the gaps in the roof with stray banana leaves and stones to hold them in place. Parker was sharpening a collection of sticks, presumably with an eye toward hunting food. There was no sign of Vanderbrecken.

"Good morning, Mr. Hawkins." Parker greeted him in apparent good spirits. His weather-worn face was clean-shaven, his grey-streaked hair held back with what appeared to be a piece of vine. "Is our prisoner alive and well?"

"Yes sir, and thirsty, as am I," Jim replied. "Have we located fresh water?"

Parker nodded to his left. "About ten minute's walk. Vanderbrecken is there, devising a way to bring it nearer to our camp. The man is quite ingenious at improvising. I suppose he's had to be in his line of work."

Jim set off into the trees, figuring he was unlikely to get lost on an island of that size. He had no trouble finding the pool in question: a small dip in the terrain captured water that poured down from a series of smooth rocks of different heights. Vanderbrecken knelt beside the pool, contemplating its position thoughtfully. When Jim arrived, panting a little, Vanderbrecken filled a worn coconut shell from one of the low falls of water and held it out.

"Thank you," Jim said after draining it twice over. "Do you require any assistance?"

"No, not yet. I have not decided what method to use." Vanderbrecken turned to him, eyes sharp. "Has Moxon caused any trouble?"

"He's been completely cooperative," Jim assured him, because it was clear the man hoped otherwise. He quickly changed the subject. "How long do you think we'll be stranded here?"

"Too long."

"Your enterprise will be there when you get back, won't it?" Unlike my own, Jim added silently. He could not expect the plantation in Jamaica to run itself without him indefinitely. The owner would be forced to send a replacement. "There will always be wood to harvest."

Vanderbrecken's already hard face stiffened further. "But there will not always be harvesters or carvers or buyers. I may have to start again from scratch to build my business. All because of that…" He spat to indicate his opinion of Moxon. "You let me know if he tries anything, Hawkins. I will see that he does not try it a second time."

Jim nodded, scooped up another shellful of water, and headed back to camp. In his opinion, while Vanderbrecken was a good man to have on one's side, he was the wrong man to cross, and Jim almost pitied the young Spaniard for setting himself so firmly at odds with him.

Moxon sat up to drink the water gratefully, then sank back again. It was high noon now, and the hut was stifling, but he didn't complain. "What is happening out there?" he asked instead, his voice stronger now that his throat wasn't parched.

"We're concentrating on gathering food and water," Jim admitted. "We'll keep a fire burning as well, but it could be a while before any ships pass. Why? Do you imagine your sailors will come to rescue you?"

"No, they have other orders."

"To start war with England?"

"To prevent England from launching an unprovoked attack on Spain!"

Jim shook his head and moved away. There seemed to be no room for debate: he knew one truth, Moxon was convinced of another, and neither was willing to be swayed.

"I'll bring you more water later, and food, if we find it," he promised. Further threats did not seem needed.

Parker's spears were a success. There didn’t appear to be any animals or even birds left on the island - and he posited that might be why the place was abandoned - but by mid-afternoon he had a half dozen fish frying on the fire. After patching the roofs of all three huts, Ben had gone in search of other edibles, returning with an armful of bruised bananas. Vanderbrecken had come back with a number of ideas for bringing an adequate supply of water to their camp, and the fire was sending smoke high into the sky. Over a welcome and nourishing meal, they agreed that their situation was not as bad as it could be.

Afterwards, taking Moxon his portion of food and water, Jim had to admit that the same could not be said for their prisoner. His black hair was soaked with sweat, as was his clothing. He accepted the drink eagerly, but turned away from the food, as if too tired to bother with sustenance. Jim feared he was on the verge of heat-stroke.

"I'm going to untie you," he said suddenly. "But I need you to swear that you will remain in this hut and not try to harm any one of us."

Moxon perked up a bit. "You have my word as a Cordova."

Intuiting that the other considered that a sacred vow, Jim undid the belt and pulled it free. He then helped remove the jacket, because Moxon's arms were all but numb. When the Spaniard fell back on the pallet in relief, Jim went a step further and yanked off his boots, since it was unlikely Moxon could do it for himself. When Jim began to unfasten the top few buttons of Moxon's shirt, his hand was weakly but immediately batted away.

"Thank you," Moxon said quietly. "I can manage now."

"As you wish."

Already his breathing was less labored. Jim left him there with a silent prayer that he had read the man correctly and had not blindly endangered everyone in camp.

Next morning Vanderbrecken started building a sluice contraption that would channel water from the low falls down to the beach. It involved constructing a dam to raise the pool level, so Jim and Ben were put to work collecting large stones. This was going to take a day or two, since most of the island proved to be formed of sand. Meanwhile, Parker continued to spear-fish, and Silver continued to make himself useful by watching for ships and keeping the fire fueled. The few times Jim caught him poring over his precious map, Silver merely flashed a gold-capped smile and tucked it away, so Jim did not question him. He supposed the pirate would be dreaming of returning to his treasure island even upon his deathbed.

Moxon did not leave the hut, although he did eventually rise from his pallet to sit nearer the doorway. The first time Ben noticed him there he nearly had heart failure, so Jim was forced to confess his act of compassion. None of the others seemed to share his concern, but they didn't override his decision. Silver simply fingered his knife, Parker his spear. All Vanderbrecken had to do was flex his muscles.

The end results of all their work were satisfying, but work it definitely was. Jim returned to his hut each night exhausted and collapsed onto his pallet with a grunt. He'd replaced the old, dry rushes with fresh ones that provided more of a cushion, but they still lay on the hard ground. His tender muscles protested every time he moved.

Moxon rarely disturbed him, but on the third night he sat up with a sigh.

"Why don't you let me help you build your sluice?" he suggested. "It will be done quicker and you can stop driving yourself so hard."

"Why do you care?" Jim asked, in no mood for conversation. "You'll get water no matter how long it takes."

"Which I appreciate, but I would also like some sleep." Moxon was smiling when Jim cracked an eye at that. "Your constant groaning at night keeps me awake."

Jim meant to say something scathing, but the smile took him by surprise. He couldn't recall ever seeing the man share it before, and it was rather a nice one. "I'll talk to the others tomorrow. You'll just have to deal with it tonight."

"I could…" Moxon paused, then shrugged. "In Seville there was a man who could ease muscle aches by massaging one's shoulders and back. I've watched him. I know what to do."

That sounded incredibly enticing, but Jim was not about to let his sore body rule his head. Moxon might seem benevolent now, but he had yet to prove he could be trusted.

"Thank you for the offer," Jim said reluctantly, "but I'll be fine. I'll try not to groan too loudly."

Moxon nodded, as if he fully understood Jim's dilemma. "Good-night then."

Jim was asleep before he could reply.

Next day he proposed Moxon be allowed out of confinement to lend a hand. The immediate and unanimous response was negative, but after some debate, Parker and Vanderbrecken offered to visit him to judge his sincerity for themselves. Jim accompanied them back to his hut, where Moxon sat patiently in the shaded doorway. He stood up upon their approach.

"I see you're not suffering for your past actions," Parker observed. He faced the younger man directly, and now it was Moxon who couldn't meet his eyes. "Hawkins suggests it would be safe to let you leave your prison, that you have expressed a desire to assist us."

"You could use another pair of hands," Moxon stated.

"True, but not if those hands are going to work against us. Why should we believe that you will not try to steal the longboat and escape?"

"Give me credit for some intelligence. There is no place to go, and there is no hope of survival at sea. I am not suicidal."

"And if and when a ship comes by? Will you turn on us then?"

Moxon raised his chin. "I will not turn on you. If it is a Spanish ship, I will even plead for leniency on your behalf."

Vanderbrecken made a menacing noise; Parker merely turned his back.

"Do as you like," he told Jim, and walked off.

"Just stay out of my way," Vanderbrecken added before he too left them there.

Jim knew Moxon was waiting expectantly, but he was torn. His friends clearly did not agree with his request, but they were willing to trust his judgment. He needed additional reassurance from the Spaniard that he was not being a soft-hearted fool.

"I have given you my word that I will not harm anyone. Shall I give my word that I will not attempt to escape the island alone?" Moxon asked, anticipating Jim's next words. "You have it."

Jim frowned. "Why? You claim to be our sworn enemy, yet you want to help us?"

Now Moxon hesitated. "We are not at war here. It would be to everyone's benefit to work together. And… you have shown me mercy." That seemed to puzzle him, but he met Jim's eyes steadily. "I would like to repay that."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I do, and I will not be in debt to you."

Jim knew what it was to owe a debt of honor to the wrong person - his association with Silver was evidence of that. He beckoned Moxon to follow him out of the hut, and the Spaniard did so readily. For a few minutes he scanned what could be seen of the island, but it was fairly uninformative. When Jim ushered him over to the fire, he went at once. Silver, though not pleased to see Moxon at large, seemed quite pleased to hand over his duties. They left their erstwhile prisoner adding handfuls of twigs and sticks to the flames.

"One step out of line," Silver remarked darkly to Jim as they walked away, "and it'll be the last full step he takes. Let's just see him betray us without the use o’ one o' his pegs." He tapped his crutch against his own wooden leg to make his point. Jim refrained from pointing out that Silver himself had managed to betray many a crewmate since losing his 'peg'. He accepted the threat for what it was: fair warning.

With an extra pair of hands helping at the pool, the sluice was completed by the following afternoon. It consisted of a number of hollowed-out canes tied end to end, with one end jammed in among the rocks that formed the dam. The pool now filled to a higher level than natural, so when the canes were lowered, the water automatically flowed downward through them, eventually reaching a man-made pool behind the huts. There it accumulated until the canes were raised again. It was not a perfect solution - as much water leaked from the canes as made it to the beach - but it would do.

With that task done, Ben was free to resume gathering fruit, and Vanderbrecken joined Parker in catching fish. He seemed to enjoy it as another outlet for his excessive energy, and he was naturally good at it, unlike Jim who gave it a try and quit in frustration. Moxon didn't even suggest he try; there was no likelihood anyone would let him handle a spear. In any case, he still wasn't allowed near Vanderbrecken.

That played to his advantage in one respect. Now that the Dutchman no longer spent his days at the pool, Moxon had his first chance to visit it. Jim accompanied him for show: he didn't expect the Spaniard to sabotage their hard work, but it would reassure the others that Jim wasn't completely neglecting his role as warden.

At the pool Moxon simply knelt down and splashed the relatively cool water on his face. It hadn't occurred to Jim that the man hadn't bathed in the sea the way the others occasionally had. He'd assumed cleanliness wasn't as important to the Spanish as it was to the English. Now that he saw how much Moxon enjoyed it, he deduced his abstinence must be for another reason.

"There are more pools back there," he said suddenly, pointing to where the falls began, "that aren't connected to this one. You can bathe there without fouling our drinking supply."

"Where?"

Jim led him carefully across the slippery rocks. The other pools were small in comparison to the one they’d dammed, but they'd serve their purpose. Moxon had put on his boots to venture into the trees, but he sat down now and pulled them off. Before undoing his shirt, he turned to Jim.

"May I have some privacy?"

"Of course." Jim hadn't intended to leave, but it was the decent thing to do. He returned to the lower reservoir and sat down to wait. From there he could hear splashing and more than one sigh of sheer pleasure at the chance to get clean, making him feel like an utter heel for not offering it sooner.

When Moxon appeared he was dry except for his hair. His color was better, and he seemed more relaxed, although that could have been Jim's imagination. Till now he hadn't considered the Spaniard particularly stressed, but there was a definite difference in his manner.

"Were you a sailor before…" Jim broke his thoughtless question off, since it could only lead to dissension, but Moxon merely raised his brows. "I mean to ask, are you a sailor at heart? You seem to have a marked affinity for water."

"I have always lived near the ocean," the other confessed, not offended by Jim's clumsiness. "Both in England and in Spain. If not for my social position, I might have gone to sea. As it was…" He cut himself off this time. After a moment he finished, "As it was, I ended up going anyway."

He led the way back to camp. Following silently, Jim wondered what he had been going to say. He found himself very curious how this young man had become a 'confidential agent' for the King of Spain.

The weather remained oppressively hot, and the fire on the beach didn't help. One person tended it at all times, but once camp was livable, the others took to retiring to their huts during the worst of the afternoon sun. Jim had resisted, expecting that time alone and awake with Moxon might be awkward, but he soon discovered his bunk-mate could be good company.

He'd initially taken Moxon to be in his late twenties, but as they talked, he revealed that he was nearer Jim's age of twenty-two. He'd spent half his life in Spain, but hadn't traveled anywhere else on the continent, nor had he been across the Atlantic before. He listened with flattering attention to Jim's tales of his adventures with the pirates when he was a lad, and seemed to commend Jim's plan to oversee an acquaintance's Jamaican plantation once he'd graduated from Oxford.

"Where did you go to school?" Jim inquired presently. Moxon's accent fluctuated between educated English and equally educated Spanish, so he was curious.

For a moment it appeared Moxon would not answer. They were both sprawled casually on their pallets, and the other tensed visibly at the question. Till now they'd been chatting without concern for their political differences, and Jim truly hoped that wasn’t about to change.

"In England," Moxon finally admitted. "I lived with my father in London until I was fourteen. Then I went to live with my mother in Seville."

"Why? Didn't you like England?"

"I liked it a great deal, but my father decided I should know my mother's family too."

Jim bet the gentleman regretted that decision many times over, but he didn't say so. "Why did they live so far apart?"

Moxon cast him a look that said Jim couldn't be that naïve. "My mother's family never approved of the marriage. They were always against the English, and would have disowned my mother if she had not left my father."

"Then why would your father send you to them? You must have been English through and through at that point." Jim caught himself when Moxon stiffened. "I beg your pardon. What I mean to say is, didn't your father realize how they felt?"

For some reason, Moxon was having trouble meeting Jim's eyes. "Not entirely."

"Did they treat you well?"

"Of course."

Jim had no idea why the conversation had bogged down. "Had you any siblings?"

"No. I am an only child."

That made even less sense. "Then your father sent his only heir--"

Moxon moved one hand abruptly in an imperious and probably unconscious gesture that meant the subject was closed. A moment later he recognized what he'd done and blushed slightly. "Forgive me, but I don't wish to speak of this any further."

"As you wish."

Jim rolled over and pretended to fall sleep. He suspected the other was doing the same.

Eventually they ran out of debris for the fire and had to find an alternative, and as usual it was Vanderbrecken who excelled in providing it. He could tear branches off trees bare-handed. The fact that he chose to do so bare-chested didn't bother anyone, or so Jim assumed. That was before he spotted Moxon watching the Dutchman from behind one of the unused huts.

As ordered, Moxon had stayed out of Vanderbrecken's way. He'd also stayed out of Silver's and Parker's way if he could help it, but it was Vanderbrecken he particularly avoided. It therefore came as a surprise to Jim to come upon the Spaniard standing in the shadows, eyeing the other man as if he were on a stage. Vanderbrecken was denuding young trees of their branches as if they were no thicker than rosebushes, his hands moving quickly, his shoulder and arm muscles bulging. Moxon was so enthralled he didn't notice Jim stop nearby, and when Jim realized why, he ducked inside the hut out of embarrassment. He'd never actually seen a man in sexual heat before, but now he knew exactly what it looked like. Moxon was breathing hard, his face flushed and eyes half-closed. He stood motionless otherwise.

After a few minutes Vanderbrecken stopped ripping trees apart and picked up the kindling he'd created. He carried it down to the fire site without a backward glance. Frozen, Jim waited for Moxon to do something; when the Spaniard drew a deep breath then disappeared into the trees, he exhaled in relief. A moment later he found himself following Moxon to the falls.

If he'd thought about it, Jim wouldn't have done it, but he didn't pause to think. He just slipped into the surrounding foliage and watched Moxon stop beside the smaller pool. For the longest time Moxon was still, staring at the water as if mesmerized. Just as Jim was about to back away out of shame, Moxon dropped to his knees. Panting, he opened his breeches urgently and from the ensuing movements, Jim didn't have to guess what he was doing. He could see Moxon's face, and that was enough. By the time Moxon came with a shuddering gasp, Jim had his own breeches open and was copying his actions with equal fervor. Fortunately he was able to climax without a sound; when he managed to pry his eyes open and look, Moxon had gone.

Jim made it to the larger pool before dropping to the ground. He hadn't done that in a long time, and he wasn't particularly happy to have done it now. He'd never imagined invading someone's privacy in such a way, and he'd certainly never imagined being aroused by the sight of another man… doing that. It had never crossed his mind that Moxon might be partial to men. For that matter, it had never crossed his mind that he might be as well.

At university he'd been too busy with his studies to be distracted by the local girls. To the best of his recollection, he hadn't been distracted by his classmates either. Today wasn't the first time Vanderbrecken had toiled without his shirt on, and Jim had barely noticed. He had no idea why the possibility of Moxon… doing that had lured him to the pool, nor why watching it had made him so hard he had no choice but to do the same. He didn't know how he was going to face the man henceforward.

Everyone else in camp was behaving normally by the time Jim made it back, so he strove to imitate them. He must have been successful, because no one spared him a second glance. Moxon retired to their hut directly after the evening meal, for which Jim was grateful. He decided not to follow until the other was asleep, thereby avoiding any confrontation at all. That was the best he felt capable of managing that night.

Naturally, Moxon was still awake when Jim finally crept in.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, causing Jim to start and blush. He was glad the hut was completely dark.

"Yes, I'm fine. Go to sleep."

"You seemed disturbed earlier."

"I'm fine."

Moxon was silent for a while, but Jim could tell he wasn't dozing. Neither was Jim.

"Our first night here," the Spaniard began out of the blue, "you said that Isabella should have left the ship with you. Why? Was she important to you?"

Jim's mind went blank. "Who?"

"Senorita Isabella. On the ship you seemed to admire her. Was it mutual?" After waiting in vain for an intelligent response - which Jim was unable to provide - Moxon gave up. "I beg your pardon. I did not mean to intrude on your personal affairs."

"No apology needed," Jim finally said, blushing again. If Moxon only knew who should be apologizing to whom, he would no doubt be less civil. "Of course I admired her, she is a beautiful woman. You seemed to find her so as well."

"She hardly deigned to speak to me, thinking me a mere first mate. Did she speak to you?"

"Yes, until she discovered I'm the son of an innkeeper." The memory of the young lady’s disgust when she’d discovered his origins still stung, causing Jim to again speak without thinking. "Spanish nobility seems to breed a certain snobbishness."

"Am I a snob?"

"I'm not sure what you are."

A silence fell, and this time Jim sensed that he would have to be the one to breach it. He hadn't meant to be rude, but knowing what he now did, he could see how the other might interpret his brusqueness. He could no longer go to sleep without resolving some things.

"Why are you interested in Isabella?" he asked tentatively.

"I'm not. I'm interested in whether you were attracted to her."

"Why?"

"Because you puzzle me."

" _I_ puzzle _you_?"

Now there was a smile in Moxon's voice. "Do I puzzle you as well?"

"In every way."

"For example?"

Jim cursed his own youth. For all he could tell, Moxon might be mocking him. "For example, you talk like a Spaniard but behave like an Englishman."

"I've told you I'm half of each."

"Then why align yourself with the Spanish? You of all people should work for peace between your two countries. Or at the very least remain neutral."

"I was neutral, once." Moxon shifted restlessly. "Let's not discuss politics tonight."

"All right." Jim steeled himself. "Then for another example, you steer clear of Vanderbrecken most of the time, as well you should. Yet you spy on him in a way that would rouse his deepest anger if he were to know of it."

Moxon's reply was almost too faint to be heard. "You know of that?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you followed me today?"

"Oh my God." For several minutes Jim couldn't articulate anything further. He'd never been so mortified. He was actually planning which other hut to move into, when Moxon spoke up.

"I saw you there, at the pool," he remarked, his tone flat but audible. "Afterwards. I saw you… I didn't know you'd seen me on the beach. I thought…"

Jim suddenly got it, and his tongue resumed functioning. "I don't know why I followed you. I guess I was curious. I don't know why I watched you, or why I… In fact, I don't know anything."

"You now know why I was exiled from England," Moxon offered softly.

"You've always…?"

"Yes. You've never?"

"Never." Jim tossed more questions around his head and settled on an unexpected one. "Why Vanderbrecken?"

"He's a handsome man."

"He despises you."

"That has nothing to do with it." There were more faint noises, and Jim realized that Moxon had left his pallet and was now sitting cross-legged beside him. He kept his voice low. "Sound carries at night, and neither of us can afford to be overheard."

"Agreed." Moonlight beyond the open doorway was virtually non-existent, but Jim thought he could make out Moxon's features at this proximity. "Why Vanderbrecken then?"

"Because… he provided the opportunity, and it has been a long time since I allowed myself the opportunity to look.”

“To look?” Jim echoed.

“In England I looked, and for that I was sent to Spain. In Spain I looked, and for that I was sent into service. I dared not look while at sea, so I was… “

Jim sat up and copied Moxon’s position, leaning close. “Are you saying you’ve done nothing but look?”

“Yes.”

“Why couldn’t you do more while at sea? Men do, at sea.” Although he’d never been aware of such things while sailing with Silver and his crew, Jim had learned later that it must have been going on. He hadn’t been shocked by it, but his mind had boggled at envisioning any of those rough pirates in a sexual union. “When there are no women available, it’s not uncommon for men to make do with each other.”

“I am not like those men.” Moxon’s breath tickled Jim’s ear. “That isn’t what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“Someone who isn’t ‘making do’.”

Jim ran out of words. He understood, or thought he did, but he had no counsel to give. When Moxon had broached this unlikely topic, Jim had actually contemplated offering to share some of the acts he presumed the other had already experienced. He'd pondered a few of the physical possibilities and was confident he could perform them; he hadn't foreseen the need for an emotional attachment. That he wasn't sure he could provide.

He wasn't aware of pulling back, but Moxon was suddenly returning to his own pallet, their tete-a-tete over.

"I thank you for keeping my secret," the Spaniard said somewhat formally, considering the sensitive nature of what he'd just revealed. "And I will, of course, keep yours."

"You have my word," Jim promised, at a loss. He hadn't been ready for their confidences to end. To be honest, he hadn't been ready for Moxon to retreat so precipitously; he'd been enjoying the illusion of intimacy. "I hope I haven't offended you."

"Not at all."

"If you need to talk again, please don't hesitate… I mean, I will do what I can to…"

"Thank you."

Moxon was silent after that, and presently Jim knew from the evenness of his breathing that he'd fallen asleep. Jim was not so lucky.

First thing next morning Jim headed for the small pool to take care of a persistent need. He'd slept poorly, eager to deal with his physical urges but unwilling to do so in another's presence, even if that other was the cause of it and might understand. Jim wasn't ready to share his confusion yet: he had no idea whether this interest in Moxon would last or whether it was a passing aberration. He just knew that until his body was at peace, his mind was not going to be able to sort it out.

Afterwards, catching his breath among the rocks, Jim noticed something to which he'd been oblivious till then: the weather. For the first time since they'd settled on the island, a strong wind had sprung up. The usually clear sky was crowded with dark clouds, and even as Jim stood up in alarm, rain began to fall. Within moments it was a deluge.

Jim hadn’t taken two steps before losing his footing and sliding across the rocks, but he was able to catch himself before crashing into the dam. The weight of the additional water however was loosening the stones they'd worked so hard to lodge into place. As Jim hesitated, the dam began to collapse before his eyes. Swearing, he threw himself at the structure, using all his strength to hold the rocks in position. Water and rain rushed past him, drenching him from head to toe. Shivering despite the heat, Jim realized that he was trapped now: if he moved, the entire dam and its contents would come down on him. His arms were straining against the pressure of the swollen pool, and jagged stones were pushing into his back. His legs, braced against what was fast becoming mud, were slipping.

Then someone was there, taking some of the weight of the dam, allowing him to shift his aching arms. Jim didn't have to look to know who it was. He concentrated on locking his legs in place and holding the water back, and beside him, Moxon did the same. For Jim, the presence of another human body had never been so welcome.

The downpour ended as abruptly as it began. Without discussion, Jim continued to support the dam while Moxon pounded the stones back where they belonged. The cane rig had broken off, so water was able to drain through that opening as well as over the edge of the reservoir, and in a thankfully short time, the dam was once again able to contain its load without help. Jim rolled aside just in case, then lay motionless on the sodden ground, exhausted.

"Are you all right?" Moxon exclaimed, joining him cross-legged. Jim nodded, too breathless to attempt speech. "Can you move?" Jim shook his head, but this time he managed enough of a smile to reassure the other that he wasn’t injured. "Do you want to lie here for a while?"

Jim nodded again. "How did you know…?”

"That a squall was coming? Silver sensed it and warned us." Moxon paused, but Jim didn't respond. "That you were up here? I saw you go into the woods earlier. I guessed this was where you were headed."

Jim closed his eyes, recalling suddenly how his morning had begun. He would have been humiliated if Moxon had come upon him then; now it no longer mattered.

"Thank you," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, you bore the worst of it, I'm afraid."

Moxon rose and held out his hand. With barely a groan, Jim let himself be hauled to his feet. Together they made their way back to the beach.

Their camp had not fared well. One of the huts had fallen over, and all the others were again missing parts of their roofs. The sluice was in pieces. The fire was a smoldering mess, and the longboat, left sitting on the sand, had filled with water. When Jim and Moxon got there, Parker, Vanderbrecken and Ben were attempting to tip it over to empty it, without much success.

"Hawkins, you look like hell," Parker greeted him. "Could you lend us a hand here? And you, Moxon."

Jim got in line beside the Captain and gripped the edge of the boat, vaguely aware that Moxon did the same. This time on the count of three they were able to raise the vessel far enough to displace most of its contents. They left it bottom up to dry out.

It was then that Jim noticed that the only position Moxon could man was next to Vanderbrecken, and that the Dutchman was again shirtless. Once their task was completed, Moxon didn't hurry away, lingering in Vanderbrecken's presence for the first time.

"Good job," Parker stated, running his hands through his rapidly drying hair. Jim marveled at how he seemed to thrive on trials that would get many a man down. He turned toward their damaged shelters without even pausing to catch his breath. "Now for the huts."

"Lucky that you and Mr. Vanderbrecken were not inside when it went," Jim remarked, noting that it was the Captain's hut which had collapsed.

"True. We have Silver to thank for that," Parker admitted. "Claims he could smell the blow coming from a mile away."

"Is he all right?"

"I'm just fine," Silver himself said, approaching from his own hut. Of them all, he was the only one not soaked through. He grinned at the picture they presented. "Jim, me boy, what have you been up to? You look like a drowned rat."

"I had a bit of a mishap at the dam," Jim confessed. "It nearly gave out with me under it. If not for Moxon…" He glanced at the Spaniard, and the sight of Vanderbrecken with his arm resting on his supposed enemy’s shoulder made him lose his train of thought. He hoped he wasn't blushing. "It's stable now, but the sluice needs to be repaired."

"I'll see to it at once," Vanderbrecken said. He slowly removed his arm, and Jim thought he saw Moxon relax slightly. "Since he has proven to be so helpful, perhaps Moxon is available to assist me?"

Whatever game the Dutchman was playing, Parker was not going to encourage it. He looked sourly at his bunk-mate. "It's his choice. Can we be assured of his safety?"

"Of course."

"Moxon?"

"I'll assist him," Moxon agreed, head held high. He accompanied Vanderbrecken over to the pool behind the huts without meeting Jim's gaze.

Parker commandeered Jim and Ben to help patch the roofs and then to rebuild the fire, so Jim had no further chance to talk to his friend till afternoon. The squall had not broken the heat-wave; in fact the humidity was worse than ever, so all six retired to their huts for a rest once the sun was high in the sky. Jim was so stiff and sore by then he could barely lie down without moaning.

Moxon was already stretched out on his pallet looking surprisingly comfortable. Since his hair was shorter than Jim's it had dried quickly and fallen readily into place. Jim's hair was still damp and stuck out at odd angles. His garments were torn and caked in smelly mud. Disgusted, Jim determined that his first order of business once he could get up would be to bathe and wash his clothes.

"You're groaning again," Moxon pointed out after a few minutes.

"Sorry." Jim closed his eyes. After several minutes, he surrendered. "Does that offer of a massage still stand?"

"Certainly." Moxon came over and knelt beside him. "It would be easier if you took off your shirt."

When Jim grimaced at the effort this would entail, the other helped him strip off the filthy rag. His skin, rarely exposed to the sun, was much paler than Moxon's, and Vanderbrecken’s for that matter, both of whom seemed to tan easily. Jim waited to see if Moxon would comment, but the Spaniard only smiled.

"Face down, please," he requested, and Jim did so with a few more hearty groans. He crossed his arms under his head and considered never moving again. Then the massage began, and Jim _knew_ he never wanted to move again.

Moxon's touch was a bit uncertain at first and Jim guessed he'd never actually done this before, but as his fingers found inflamed muscles and carefully soothed them, he grew more confident. Jim's sighs of pleasure undoubtedly helped. After caring for every inch of Jim's back, Moxon moved to his shoulders, neck, and finally his arms. Jim was ready to sink into sleep, but he didn't want to miss a minute of this, so he forced his eyes to stay open. Therefore he saw the expression on Ben's face when the man suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"Yes?" Jim asked lazily. Ben moved his mouth for a moment without sound. "What is it?"

"Captain Parker wants us all to gather for dinner," Ben finally articulated. His eyes were wide, but that was not unusual; much of the world seemed to startle him. "At twilight."

"We'll be there," Jim promised. His own eyes drifted closed and when he opened them again, Ben was gone.

"Will he jump to the wrong conclusion?" Moxon murmured. He hadn’t halted his movements while Ben was there, but the visit had evidently alarmed him.

Jim felt too limp to worry. "I don't think so. Ben doesn't judge people."

"Others will, if he says something."

"He won't."

For several minutes Moxon concentrated on his lower back, then his hands closed on Jim's right thigh. Jim jumped out of sheer surprise.

"Would you rather I didn't continue?" Moxon asked at once, releasing him.

"No. No, I mean…" Jim's sore legs didn't leave it open to debate. "Please continue. You are extremely good at this."

"Thank you." Moxon's fingers resumed working wonders on his flesh. "The man who showed me how to do this was brilliant. He said the secret is empathy. If you imagine how it would feel to you as you do it, you know exactly where and how hard to rub."

Jim fell silent, enjoying being touched in places he hadn't been since he was a child. His mind was awake now however, and he felt ready to hazard a few questions.

"Did Vanderbrecken behave himself?" he inquired.

Moxon voice was neutral. "Yes."

"Why did he solicit your help?"

"To make me uncomfortable."

Jim frowned. "In what way?"

"He prefers I remain fearful of him and his threats. This morning it appeared I was no longer afraid, so he reinforced them." Moxon hands didn’t falter, and he didn't sound upset. "He did not hurt me."

Jim had a horrible thought. "He doesn't know… does he?"

"No, I am convinced he does not."

Jim wasn't so sure, but he didn't pursue it. His body had other things to distract it, and by the time Moxon reached his feet, Jim was sound asleep.

At twilight everyone in camp met by the fire. Parker had an announcement to make.

"It's been two weeks," he began, "and we haven't seen a single ship on the horizon. It's time to stop awaiting rescue and take other measures."

"Such as?" Silver inquired.

"Mr. Vanderbrecken and I will go out in the longboat and seek land."

"You'll be seeking yer own death, more like. We're nowhere near other land. I have a map, so I know." Silver met Jim's glance with a nod. "This spit of land we're on now isn't near anything of note, you can take me word for it."

"I'd rather see the map," Parker said dryly.

"It's not for public viewing."

"In point of fact the map belongs to me," Jim broke in with a mild glare in Silver's direction, "and I see no harm in letting you look at it."

Silver didn't argue, but neither did he graciously hand the paper over. Instead he slipped it from inside his jacket and opened it delicately, holding it out for Parker to peruse. The Captain scanned it briefly, then waved it away.

"If you can make heads or tails of that, you're a better seaman than I," he said shortly. "Mr. Vanderbrecken and I will set off tomorrow morning--"

"What's yer hurry, if I might ask?"

Parker indicated the condition of their camp. "Another storm like this morning and we could all be without food or shelter. We can't afford to wait any longer."

"That were just the tail end of the squall," Silver pointed out. "Run into its full force at sea and that'll be that, for you and for us." He faced the others in apparent earnestness. "Another storm like that hits the island, and the boat may be our only way of escape. I say we keep it at hand, just in case."

"Shall we put it to a vote then?" Parker suggested in exasperation. He obviously had not expected his plan to be challenged. He turned to Vanderbrecken, who gave him a nod. "That's two of us who think our best option is to go. Silver clearly votes otherwise. Ben?"

Put on the spot, Ben stumbled back a step. "I vote the boat stays."

Parker moved on to Moxon. "And you?"

Moxon didn't hesitate. "I abstain. It was not my choice to come here, so I will take no part in deciding the next move."

"Accepted. Mr. Hawkins?"

Jim could feel Silver's eyes upon him, as Ben no doubt had. He saw the merits of both arguments, just as he saw the potential risks. As far as he was concerned, there was no clear answer - until he caught sight of Vanderbrecken hovering near Moxon, where he had no business being.

"I think they should go," he said firmly.

Parker was satisfied. “There you are, Silver. A fair vote.”

Silver scowled, but he did not bother to prolong the debate. Instead he stomped in his one-legged fashion over to his hut, and if there’d been a door to slam, it would have been heard from one end of the island to the other.

“Perhaps you’d prefer other sleeping accommodations tonight,” the Captain suggested mildly to Ben, who was staring after his bunk-mate in dismay. Ben began to nod, caught Jim’s eye, and turned the gesture into a shrug. That assured Jim that his old friend had reached the wrong conclusion, but it was not the time to set him straight. “Your choice, Mr. Gunn.”

“I’ll do fine, sir,” Ben said.

“Good.” Parker turned to Vanderbrecken. “We’ll need to gather enough provisions to last us at least a week.”

Vanderbrecken smiled. “You and I will not want for food. It’s those who remain behind who may starve without us to catch fish for them.”

“Can you rig some sort of sun-shade for the boat?’

“I’ll think of something.”

Jim left them to their own devices. Letting Moxon go ahead to their hut, he followed Ben, hoping to waylay him for a quick word. When Ben saw him approaching he halted and seemed to be bracing himself for some sort of reprimand.

“Ben,” Jim began, placing his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders, “I believe you’re laboring under a misapprehension.” Ben’s expression didn’t change, so Jim tried simpler terms. “You’re wrong about what you think you saw this afternoon.”

“I don’t actually think I saw anything,” Ben told him solemnly.

“You didn’t.” Jim realized they were talking at cross-purposes when Ben nodded obediently. “I mean, there was nothing to see.” Ben was still nodding. “Ben, I’m not telling you what to believe. I’m telling you the truth.”

“Absolutely, sir. I never doubted it.”

Jim released him, admitting defeat. Ben’s thought processes would not allow for a subtle conversation, and Jim was not about to attempt a frank one. He said good-night and let Ben retire to his hut.

Moxon was lying down when Jim arrived at his own, but he did not seem tired.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Jim flexed his muscles and was pleased to feel no pain. “Excellent, thank you.” He sat down on his pallet, and an idea struck him. “How are you feeling? Might I return the favor of a massage?”

“It is not necessary.”

“Are you sure? I think I learned a great deal from your demonstration this afternoon.”

Moxon smiled, but shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, but no.”

Jim lay back in disappointment. He would have been very interested to run his hands over the other man’s body, in a therapeutic manner of course.

“What can I call you?” he asked suddenly. When Moxon looked bewildered, Jim explained. “I can hardly call you Don Esteban, or Senor de Cordova. Is ‘Moxon’ your real name?”

“Why?”

Now Jim was equally perplexed. He’d assumed they were long past instant suspicion. “Because I like to address my friends by their given names. You’re welcome to call me ‘Jim’, after all.”

“Am I?”

Jim was at a loss. He felt closer to this man than he’d been to anyone since his boyhood, and it was a cold blow to discover the other did not return the sentiment. When Moxon didn’t speak again, Jim fell silent as well. After a moment he covered his eyes with one bent arm, preparing to go to sleep. Unfortunately his mind would not let go of the memory of his last nap, when he’d been lulled into Morpheus’ arms by Moxon’s talented hands.

“In England I was called ‘Stephen’,” Moxon whispered abruptly. Jim looked over at him. “I cannot reveal my family name. I swore on my mother’s soul to renounce that name.” He watched anxiously for Jim to react. “’Moxon’ was given to me for my assignment on the _Saracen_. It has no other meaning.”

“Then you took your mother’s family name instead?” Jim was careful to keep any condemnation out of his tone. He felt none, although that was what Moxon seemed to anticipate.

“No, she had remarried. Cordova is her husband’s name.”

“I didn’t realize your parents had divorced.”

“They didn’t.” Moxon came to a dead stop, so Jim waited. “My mother is Catholic. She had her first marriage annulled after she returned to Spain.”

That hardly seemed fair to her son, but Jim was reluctant to point that out. “Did Cordova adopt you?”

“No.”

“You can tell me it’s none of my business, if you’d rather.”

Instead Moxon went off on an apparent tangent. “My mother left me with my father when I was small. I barely remembered her, although I knew she was very beautiful and very young. I had no portrait, and she didn’t write to me. It was as if I didn’t exist for her. When I had to leave England, I was upset, of course, but also thrilled at the prospect of seeing her again. That was almost worth the loss of my father’s regard.”

“Was she all you hoped?”

“Yes, and more. She was still beautiful, and gracious, and loved by everyone who knew her. I felt awkward at first, since I did not speak Spanish and she refused to speak English. Once I’d learned her language things got better, but…her husband did not approve of me. He never forgot I was half English. When my… predilection became known, he threatened to turn me out.”

“How old were you?” Jim asked quietly.

“Sixteen. I could have survived on my own, but I hoped to avoid being exiled a second time. My mother convinced Cordova to give me a chance to prove my loyalty to Spain. He holds a high position at court, so he was able to arrange for me to learn seamanship in Cadiz, with the intention that I someday infiltrate the British Navy. It was chance that they learned of the papers the _Saracen_ was to transport to the new world. I was judged ready, so I went where I was told and did as I was ordered.”

“Then you didn’t really believe all that hogwash about—“

Moxon raised one hand to stop Jim before he misspoke further. “I believed it. I had no choice if I wanted to keep my mother’s affection. But you’re forgetting, I also saw the documents in question, and they outlined a plot to attack Spanish ships, without a prior declaration of war. That cannot be denied.”

“But hardly an unprovoked attack.”

“Agreed. Spain is no more innocent of subterfuge than England.” He’d sat up, becoming more animated as his story unfolded. Now Moxon lay back again and stared at the water-stained reeds that passed for a ceiling. “I could not question what I was doing, or I couldn’t have gone through with it. And if I hadn’t, I would have been disowned again… I couldn’t bear to have both my parents ashamed of me.”

Jim hadn’t much comfort to offer. “Cordova allowed you to use his name in the end.”

“To impress the common sailors. If I return to Spain now, I will not be welcomed into his family. Nor can I return to England unless I want to hang for treason.” Moxon managed a wry half smile. “You see, being stranded on this island is not the direst future facing me.”

They were silent for a while. Jim was contemplating his own childhood and family. He might have been fatherless for most of his life, but his mother had always been there, always supportive and proud. His ill-considered sojourn with the pirates had not driven her away, nor had his current association with Silver, who could arguably be described as the worst of the lot.

“My mother would not treat you so,” he stated.

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you were to go home with me, my mother would not judge you based on your name or your family. All that would matter to her is that you’re my friend.”

Moxon was evidently speechless for a full minute. In the dimness Jim could not clearly read his face, but it seemed to reflect an odd and somewhat inappropriate humor.

“Your mother must truly be a saint,” he finally said, his voice a bit unsteady. “To take Long John Silver in stride, and then the likes of me. You’re a lucky fellow.”

“Well, she didn’t exactly take Silver in stride,” Jim began, then realized that Moxon was teasing him. “All right, point taken. Silver can be a lot to swallow.”

“As can I, if you think about it.”

With that gentle reminder Moxon flashed a smile and turned his back. Jim did the same, mulling over the other’s words. He was not naïve, as Moxon occasionally hinted; he knew that he was treading a fine line between flirting and friendship, but he didn’t care. He’d never felt this relaxed around anyone before, nor as willing to share secrets. Despite the unlikely circumstances of their acquaintance, Jim trusted Moxon – Stephen rather – with his life.

He eventually dozed off, only to be awoken a few hours later by shouting from outside. Jim scrambled to his feet, blearily reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. By the time his sleep-fogged brain caught up with his body, he was running across the sand to where several murky figures seemed to be flailing around near the water’s edge. Up close they turned out to be Parker, who was restraining Vanderbrecken, and Moxon. The latter was on his knees gasping for breath and clutching his middle.

“What is going on here?” Jim demanded, his voice deeper than usual due to outrage. Parker gave him a startled look, but authority came naturally to him and it would take more than a peremptory tone for him to surrender it.

“Vanderbrecken caught the Spaniard stealing our boat,” he growled. He released the Dutchman, who promptly used his booted foot to shove Moxon onto his ass. Jim just as promptly stepped forward and pushed Vanderbrecken back a pace.

“That is enough,” he said coldly, ready to fight the man if need be. When Vanderbrecken subsided, Jim pulled Moxon to his feet. “What do you say?”

“ _I_ wasn’t stealing it,” Moxon spat, literally, since his lower lip was bleeding. “I was preventing Silver from stealing it!”

“Silver? The fellow isn’t even here!” Parker exclaimed.

He was proved wrong immediately, when Silver appeared out of the darkness, fully dressed as was his habit. “Do I hear someone taking me name in vain?”

“The traitor claims you were trying to steal our boat,” Vanderbrecken told him. “I heard you shouting just moments ago. Where did you get off to?”

“Once you had the situation under control, I went to see if the scoundrel had done any other damage to our camp.”

Jim took that for what it was worth. “Moxon, tell us what happened.”

Moxon had regained his equilibrium if not his temper. He glared at his attackers as he spoke. “I heard noises, came out to investigate, and found Silver dragging the boat towards the water—“

Silver laughed aloud and raised his crutch for all to see. “As if I could do such a thing—“

“He was having great difficulty,” Moxon cut in, “obviously. When I accosted him he swung an oar at me. It took my breath momentarily, and in that time he started bellowing that it was I who was stealing the blasted boat. Of course Vanderbrecken didn’t hesitate to knock me down before asking questions.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t put my boot down your gullet!” Vanderbrecken roared.

“Enough!” This time it was Parker who lost patience with them. “I expect a straight answer, gentlemen, or there will be hell to pay. Silver, what do you say happened?”

“I came upon the fiend dragging the boat to the water, just what he accused me of. I was able to sneak up on him and whack him a good one with the oar before he knew I was there. Then I called to the rest of me shipmates for assistance—“

“Don’t lay it on quite so thick,” Jim advised him, seeing Parker’s face darken. “If you’ll recall, you were a prisoner on that ship until the death of the cook.”

That shut Silver up long enough for Moxon to compose himself. He stiffened his spine and raised his chin, as Jim had noticed him do before when his honor was on the line.

“Captain Parker, I assure you I have no desire to leave this island or to deprive you of a way to do so. Nor would I stoop to sneaking away in the middle of the night. I have given my word that I will not harm any of you, and my word is unbreakable.”

Parker might actually have been impressed if not for their history together. As it was, he merely eyed Moxon stonily for a moment, then turned to Jim.

“You’ve spent more time with him than any of us. Do you believe him?”

“Yes sir, I do,” Jim replied at once.

“Jim, me boy, are you turning on the mate who has stood by you these ten years past? Who was responsible for getting you off the _Saracen_ with yer head still attached to yer neck? Who—“

“John.” Jim faced Silver directly, stemming his flow of verbosity. “You have done me many a good turn, and I have tried to reciprocate, but we all know you are an incorrigible rogue. It there was any boat stealing going on tonight, it was most likely being done by you. Shall we ask Ben how long you’ve been absent from your hut?”

They all turned toward the structure in question, where Ben stood peering at them from the doorway. Upon realizing he was the object of their attention, he ducked into the darkness within.

“I think that settles that,” Parker announced. He gave Silver his best quelling stare, then turned to Moxon. “I will not offer you an apology, nor thanks for your vigilance.”

“I expect neither,” Moxon replied coolly.

Parker nodded once, then glanced at Vanderbrecken. The Dutchman looked a bit flushed. Rather than emulate the dignity of the Captain, he simply walked away.

“You have _my_ apology,” Jim stated, irritated that he’d once counted Vanderbrecken as a friend. The sight of Moxon’s blood made his own boil. “Silver--“

But Silver had already set off down the beach, and if his gait was slower or less confident than usual, there was nothing Jim could do about it.

Since Parker too was ready to return to his hut, Jim and Moxon did the same. Inside Moxon sat down at once, making Jim wonder whether the blow from the oar had done some real damage. Vanderbrecken’s kicks couldn’t have helped either.

“Here,” he said, dipping a corner of his recently-washed shirt in one of the shells of water they’d taken to keeping on hand. He knelt in front of Moxon and gently wiped the blood from his chin. It stuck in his rough beard, so Jim had to rub for a moment. Moxon didn’t move, and when Jim glanced up, he caught a strange expression on the other’s face. It suddenly struck him how forward he was being. “Sorry. You could have done this yourself.”

“It’s all right.”

Jim scooted back to his own pallet. “Did they hurt you?”

“Nothing that won’t heal.”

“Captain Parker did not mean to insult you--“

“I know that.” Moxon carefully stretched out, one arm held tight across his ribs. Jim seriously hoped they weren’t cracked or broken. “I would have had him behave no differently.”

He was silent for a few minutes, so Jim settled down to go back to sleep. He’d just closed his eyes when Moxon spoke up again.

“I admire him,” he said thoughtfully. “Even aboard the _Saracen_ , I knew he was an excellent leader, although I couldn’t acknowledge it then. His treatment of me here has been fair and honorable. If I were ever to go to sea under other circumstances, I would want Parker to captain the ship… I thoroughly regret alienating him so irreversibly.”

“I don’t think he despises you,” Jim offered. “Since we’ve been here, you’ve displayed nothing but cooperation and integrity. I think he respects that in spite of himself.”

“You’re generous in your assessment.”

He didn’t list his other regrets, although Jim guessed he was mentally reviewing them. When Moxon remained quiet, Jim turned over and tried to empty his own mind. It wasn’t easy: an image of his friend’s expression while Jim was wiping away the blood came to him and refused to leave. Jim only drifted into sleep once he conceded that he didn’t want it to.

Shortly after dawn Parker and Vanderbrecken left camp with a boat-load of supplies and an equal amount of cautious optimism. At best they hoped to encounter an accommodating ship at sea, but just reaching an inhabited island would be satisfactory. Either way, they would send rescue back as soon as possible. In the meantime, Jim and Moxon were assigned the task of fishing, while Ben continued to scrounge for other food and Silver maintained the lookout and fire.

Leave-takings were brief, since both were eager to be off. Jim walked with Parker as far as the water, sorry now to see the man go.

“If it should happen that we don’t meet again, sir,” he began, privately speaking for Moxon as well as himself, “I want you to know what a privilege it was to sail with you. If fate had not decreed otherwise, I would have been honored to continue our acquaintance.”

“’Fate’, was it?” Parker did not snort, nor did he look at Moxon, who stood stiffly at Jim’s side. Instead he accepted Jim’s handshake like the gentleman he had trained himself to be. “It was a pleasure knowing you, Mr. Hawkins. I wish you success in your future endeavors, whatever path they take. And I sincerely hope you give sufficient thought to the choices ahead of you and that you make the right decisions.”

Puzzled, Jim glanced at Moxon, who met his eyes automatically then quickly averted his own. That gave Jim his answer – and he’d just confirmed Parker’s doubts without even realizing they existed.

“I will, sir,” he promised firmly.

Parker had to settle for that. With a formal nod to Moxon, the Captain joined Vanderbrecken in the longboat, and within minutes they were on their way. Jim watched their small boat until it was a mere speck on the horizon.

“Are you hungry?” Moxon inquired presently, and Jim was inordinately pleased to discover the other had waited beside him. Moxon raised his eyebrows with one of his unexpected smiles. “The sooner we learn to catch fish, the better for us all.”

They spent most of the day applying themselves to that challenge. By late afternoon, they’d gotten the hang of it, at least to the extent that their small group needn’t fear starvation. Dinner was very subdued nonetheless, and Jim hadn’t realized till then how the shrinking of their number might affect their spirits. No one provided much conversation, and they all separated sooner than normal, Silver to study his map by firelight, Ben to gather more kindling, and Moxon to hone their wooden spears on a rock. Jim found himself doing nothing more constructive than sitting on the beach, staring out to sea and pondering Captain Parker’s parting words.

As he and Moxon were retiring later, Jim reflected that he was finally getting used to extended physical exertion: his body hardly ached at all. His hands were a bit sore from handling the makeshift spears, but not incapacitatingly so. He was therefore surprised to see that Moxon’s hands were red and blistered.

“From sharpening the sticks,” Moxon explained, not visibly concerned. He’d been displaying his abused palms, but pulled back when Jim stepped closer to examine them.

“You should have used Silver’s knife, like Parker did,” Jim said, thwarted once again. He wasn’t sure why he had a compulsion to touch the man, but apparently Moxon did not share it.

“Silver would sooner slit my throat than lend me his knife,” the other pointed out.

“I’ll borrow it tomorrow. He needn’t know you’ll be using it.”

Next morning Jim approached Silver, uncertain how he’d be received. They hadn’t spoken one-on-one since the altercation over the boat, and Jim was well aware that his old shipmate could hold a grudge. When he stated his request, Silver hesitated, but only for an instant.

“You be careful with that, Jim,” he said, sounding much like his old self. “You don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands, and there’s no telling whose those hands might be.”

“I’ll return it safely, you have my word,” Jim told him.

“It’s not the blade’s safety I’m worried about.”

“You needn’t fear for mine either.” Jim was glad to get it out in the open. “Moxon is my friend, John, and I trust him. You can’t turn me against him.”

Silver eyed him pensively for a moment, then simply nodded. Jim wanted to ask what he thought he’d determined, but decided his conclusions were irrelevant. Since this was Silver, they were probably also self-serving and logically askew.

He and Moxon fished half the day with reasonable success. Pausing at high noon, Moxon wiped spray and sweat off his face and grimaced.

“Jim, I would very much like the opportunity to shave,” he said suddenly.

Jim nearly dropped the fish he was removing from his spear upon hearing Moxon address him by name. His immediate inclination was to give the man anything he asked for, but there was a problem: the only way to shave was with the knife, and Jim had tacitly promised its owner that he would not give Moxon possession of it.

Stalling, Jim squinted at his companion in the glaring sun and had to agree that he could use some grooming. Shaving with a large knife was not an easy feat, and only Parker had done so each morning. Jim himself had only bothered to remove his beard every few days since arriving on the island, but his hair was fairer than Moxon’s and not as thick. The half-Spaniard’s dark beard was growing in unevenly and made him appear a very desperate character.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said reluctantly. “Silver would have my hide if I allowed you access to his knife.” Moxon’s expression didn’t change, but Jim saw some of the light leave his eyes at this reminder of his status. It must sting to be considered untrustworthy by a notorious pirate. “But I would be happy to offer my services as a barber.”

Moxon blinked. “You have experience?”

“No, none at all, but I’m willing to give it a try if you are.”

The other had raised his fingers to his throat, perhaps unconsciously. Jim wasn’t offended: he wouldn’t ordinarily want a novice wielding a heavy blade that close to his jugular either, but he had faith in the steadiness of his touch. After a moment, Moxon shrugged.

“All right. I’ll put my life in your hands,” he murmured. “Or my face, at any rate.”

Jim couldn’t help grinning.

They went to the falls, both for privacy and to have fresh water available in case of a mishap. After some debate, Moxon sat on one of the larger rocks and rested back on his outstretched arms, tilting his face upwards. Jim had plenty of room to move around him.

“You should probably remove your shirt,” he suggested. “We’re bound to get hair everywhere.”

“I’ll wash afterwards,” Moxon replied, leaving his upper apparel where it was.

“Let me know if that position gets uncomfortable, because this may take a while.”

“Please, take all the time you need.”

After a couple of false starts, Jim got a rhythm going. If he hadn’t practiced on himself over the past few weeks, it might have been a disaster, especially since Moxon’s beard was much coarser than his own. The knife was sharp however – Jim wondered in passing where Silver had stolen it – and Moxon was patient. Jim was able to shave his cheeks without difficulty, then moved to his jawline. The angles there were sharper so it became very slow work. Jim had to place one hand on the back of the other’s head in order to hold him steady.

Concentrating on the progress of the blade, it took Jim several minutes to realize that Moxon’s eyes had closed. His breathing was a bit uneven, but he gave no indication that he wanted to end their experiment. Instead, as Jim ran the knife over his chin, his lips parted slightly. Jim had to still his hand or risk drawing blood.

He couldn’t look away from Moxon’s mouth. He’d been leaning over the man, closer than he’d ever been in daylight, and it would require only another few inches for their lips to meet. Jim could easily bring Moxon’s head forward, lower his own, and… he couldn’t do it. Not because he had any qualms about kissing his friend; in fact, he found himself wondering what Moxon’s kisses would be like. He couldn’t do it because Moxon clearly trusted him not to take advantage of him in his vulnerable position.

Flustered, Jim resumed shaving him, taking extreme care not to knick his throat. He froze every time Moxon’s Adam’s apple moved, which seemed to be something the other couldn’t control. He was breathing more rapidly now, but otherwise hadn’t shifted at all.

At last finished, Jim ran his finger down Moxon’s cheek, ostensibly to verify its smoothness. That made his subject open his eyes at once.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Jim asked. Moxon’s skin was slightly reddened in places, but Jim thought the irritation would pass quickly. He repeated his caress on the other side, reflecting that shaving someone was a vastly more intimate act than he’d ever suspected.

“No,” Moxon said unevenly. He didn’t move, not even to get away from Jim’s touch. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Jim whispered.

He finally stepped back, allowing Moxon to straighten and run his own hands over his face. The closeness of the shave did not appear to be uppermost in his mind. Still a trifle short of breath, he stood up and looked around him distractedly, not meeting Jim’s gaze.

“I believe I’ll stay behind to wash up,” he stated. “You were right, I can feel bits of whisker in my clothing.”

“Call me if you decide you want your hair trimmed,” Jim offered, casually brandishing the knife.

That made Moxon smile. He glanced at Jim before turning toward the small pool, and the warmth in his eyes made Jim’s heart pound. “I’ll do that.”

Jim left him preparing to bathe. He’d intended to return Silver’s weapon before the pirate could get a look at their now beardless companion, but he needed time to recover from a momentous realization. The question of whether his fascination with Moxon was a temporary condition was now moot: the truth was that he had fallen in love with the man, pure and simple. He didn’t know whether to laugh, pray, or drop to his knees for another reason entirely.

He wasn’t disturbed by this development – he understood the need for discretion, as Moxon obviously did – and his ego could handle the discovery that he yearned for the affection of another man rather than a woman. What sent him reeling was the knowledge that Moxon might very well feel the same way he did, and that if he played his cards right, he might finally be allowed to display his ardor as soon as that night.

Back on the beach Jim was vaguely aware of Silver and Ben huddled together near the fire. They looked up when he appeared, but his mind was elsewhere, and they didn’t interrupt him. Jim went directly to his hut and lay down, content just to bask in the joy he was feeling. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

When he awoke it was dusk, and his first thought was that he’d forgotten to return Silver’s knife. Hoping he hadn’t precipitated another row, he hurried outside, only to find Silver calmly munching on some berries beside the fire. Moxon was nowhere in sight.

“Thank you for the loan,” Jim said, handing over his blade. Silver pocketed it without a word. He looked Jim over from head to foot, a curious gleam in his eye, but didn’t explain why.

“Had a good rest, did you?” he inquired solicitously.

“Yes. Spear fishing can be tiring.”

“Then perhaps it were best you retire early tonight and all.”

Jim nodded, his attention caught by the appearance of the rest of their party approaching with their evening repast. He turned to Silver in time to see the older man note Moxon’s clean-shaven visage, but to his surprise, Silver didn’t comment. Such unusual reticence would normally have sparked Jim’s suspicions, but he was busy watching Moxon, admiring how gracefully he moved. He was an attractive man in every way.

Upon finding Jim’s gaze on him, Moxon flushed slightly, but he didn’t seem angry. After setting that morning’s catch to grill on the fire, he sat down beside Jim. Ben passed the entree around along with some sort of root vegetable he’d located, and the group ate in silence. Jim, who’d been growing quite bored with fish, bananas and tubers, hardly noticed what he was eating; his other senses were focused on the man beside him, and if he could have applied taste as well, he would have.

"Moxon," Silver said suddenly, "perhaps you'd be willing to swap beds tonight with Ben here. He's having trouble sleeping 'cause o' my snoring."

Jim froze, unable to believe his ears. He turned to Moxon, who had shown no reaction at all.

"I'm afraid I'm also a light sleeper," Moxon replied smoothly. "However Ben is welcome to join us in our hut, or he could have the extra one to himself. Ben, which would you prefer?"

Ben had been looking from one to the other as if he had no idea what they were talking about, which didn't surprise Jim at all. He kept his eyes on his food rather than glare at Silver, and marveled at his friend's composure. Moxon had to understand why Silver had made his unwelcome proposal.

"I… I guess I'll take the extra one," Ben agreed at last, and the conversation moved on to other things.

After the meal, Jim lingered until Moxon had said good-night and headed for his bed. He badly wanted to confront Silver then, but the pirate didn't give him a chance, just nodded knowingly and set off for his own abode. Ben meandered uncertainly toward the center hut.

Jim was a bit daunted to find Moxon already settled for sleep. He claimed his own pallet and wondered furiously how to broach the only subject on his mind.

"I think Silver is plotting something," Moxon remarked quietly. "I've come upon him and Ben conspiring over that map of his several times. Have you studied it recently? I'm curious whether he might have figured out where we--"

"Have you ever been in love?" Jim interrupted, having heard not a word of the other's concerns. Moxon fell silent in mid-sentence. After a moment Jim tried again. "I said, have you--"

"I heard you. I'd rather not discuss it."

Jim crawled over and sat down beside Moxon. Tonight the moon was full, shedding enough light through the doorway to illuminate the latter's solemn expression. "I'd rather we did."

He leaned closer, causing Moxon's eyes to widen. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think? I want to be with you--"

"I've told you how I feel about that--"

"That you don't want someone who's just 'making do'." Jim sat back a little, but raised one hand to cup Moxon's face. "I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Moxon insisted. "If we were not on this island, you would not give me a second thought."

"That's not true."

"It is. If and when we leave here, your head will be turned by the next Isabella you meet."

"No, it won't. Not now." Jim leaned in again. This time Moxon stopped him by slipping his hand into Jim's and gently removing it from his cheek. "What can I do to prove that?"

"Nothing, while we're stranded here," Moxon admitted. He broke eye contact, and Jim felt him sigh. "I'm sorry. If you think about it, you'll see this is for the best."

"No, it isn't."

Jim stood up, undecided how to proceed. He was positive that his friend felt the same way he did, but he wasn't about to force the issue. Frustrated in more ways than one, he left the hut.

The night was still, the fire banked down to a dull glow, the waves rolling softly against the shore. Jim walked to the water's edge, but there was nothing to see except the moon's pale reflection. He tossed a few stones at it, but that did nothing to relieve his exasperation. Nor did wandering into the trees and gathering up any loose bits of kindling he could find. He needed an outlet for his over-heated energy, and it wasn't going to be found among inanimate objects.

Discarding the kindling, Jim returned to the beach. He'd gone some distance; when he got to camp, he could see Moxon standing motionless in the doorway of their hut. He was staring out at the moonlit horizon and did not see Jim approaching, so Jim was able to walk right up to him. One look at Moxon's despondent expression ended his quandary.

"No more thinking," he ordered softly, and wrapped both arms around his friend. Using his own momentum, he propelled them back into the hut and up against one wall. There he lowered his head and crushed his lips to Moxon's whether the other wanted it or not.

Moxon's resistance lasted all of three seconds, then he was returning the kiss passionately, his own arms pressing Jim's body tightly to his. He was the first to open his mouth, and Jim's brains scrambled at the sensation of a tongue demanding entrance. When he was allowed equal access to Moxon's mouth, he couldn't help groaning, but that just added to their urgency: they were on the floor before Jim could wonder how they were going to manage it without separating.

For long minutes they struggled to get even closer. Jim attempted to unbutton Moxon's shirt, but Moxon simply raised his arms and let Jim pull it off, then did the same for Jim. Flesh to flesh, their kisses grew even wilder, their legs clashed as they sought a mutually beneficial position. The instant they found it their bodies took over, thrusting against each other in mindless ecstasy while their hands and mouths eased off. Climax struck Jim first, but even while skyrocketing towards the stars, he was aware of Moxon following close behind with a ragged and exultant cry.

Reality took a while to return. Jim's first coherent thought was that he was insane to have waited this long to act. Moxon was awake and stroking his back, and Jim would gladly have spent the past week of his life in the man's arms if he'd known it could be like this.

He opened his eyes to find Moxon smiling at him. Neither spoke for a moment, then Jim pulled him forward to kiss him again.

"Now will you answer my question?" he murmured. He could hear Moxon's heart beating against his own breast, and it unmistakably sped up, but this time the other didn't argue.

"Yes, I know what it is to be in love," he whispered, eyes shining.

Jim grinned. "It's incredible, isn't it?"

Moxon's reply was another extended kiss, so Jim took that as assent.

They'd been lying on the bare sand, so presently they moved to one of the pallets, where they stripped off the remainder of their clothing. Jim couldn't help exploring his lover both by sight and by touch, and Moxon let him, unselfconscious now. He was muscular but painfully thin, and a layer of fine dark hair covered most of his body. Jim adored every inch of it.

"Stephen," he said, running his fingers down the man's chest. When Moxon raised his eyebrows, Jim shrugged. "Just practicing your name."

"Jim," Moxon said in return. "Have you ever been called 'James'?"

"Only at Oxford." Jim had privately liked the more adult appellation, but everyone at home knew him as 'Jim', so he'd figured he was stuck with it.

"Then 'James' it is," Moxon declared, as if he understood Jim's reasons without needing to have them explained. "New names for a new start?"

Jim nodded, but the look on Moxon's face was distracting him. Foregoing conversation, he again wrapped himself around his partner and indulged his desire to kiss all the places that had been denied him till then. Moxon responded with gasps and moans enough to drive him mad. When Moxon added a series of gentle but distinctly amorous bites to his repertoire, Jim was ready to revisit the stratosphere.

He gripped Moxon's member for the first time, elated to feel it grow hard in his hand. When he began stroking it as he would his own, the man’s theory about empathy uppermost in his mind, Moxon bucked and cried out loud. Locking one arm around Jim's shoulders, he too reached down, and the sensation of a strange hand on his cock, especially _this_ strange hand, made Jim's eyes roll back in his head. Moxon laughed breathlessly and urged him to grasp both appendages, thus freeing him to palm Jim's balls. With a strangled shout, Jim attempted to copy his move, and for several minutes he frankly wasn't sure whose hand was where or fondling what. All he knew was that Moxon came first this time, and that his own climax was the most powerful of his life. Afterwards he fell into oblivion so quickly he might have passed out.

Jim awoke to sunshine with the happy realization that his head was resting on his lover's chest. Their hands were clasped, fingers entwined. Moxon's even breathing indicated he was still asleep, so Jim lay for a while, content to recall their activities of the previous night. He didn't care that they'd been awkward; finesse would come with practice. Jim was ready to indulge in some right now.

He squeezed Moxon's hand and felt the other return it as he awoke. Jim shifted to see his face, grinning widely.

"Good morning," he said, planting a light kiss on Moxon's lips.

"How are you?" Moxon asked at once.

"Wonderful. And you?"

Moxon smiled too, but his tone remained serious. "It's late. We shouldn't have slept in."

"Why not? It's not as if Silver and Ben won't guess what's happened." Jim had already contemplated trying to lie to them, but he and Moxon had made a decent amount of noise, and he had little doubt both their companions were convinced of their new status. "We're only keeping the fish waiting."

Moxon tilted Jim's chin so their gaze met directly. "Do you feel the same way this morning as you did last night?"

Jim determined there and then that he would wipe the sadness from his partner's eyes if it was the last thing he did. "Yes, in every way. Why wouldn't I?"

"People do things in the dark that they'd rather not face by daylight."

"I fell in love with you by daylight," Jim reminded him. "If the sky never darkens again, I would still love you." He watched Moxon's eyes soften and had to resume kissing him. "Let the fish wait."

They made love slowly this time, each paying full attention to what the other liked and how to enhance it. Jim got to watch Moxon's climax from beginning to end, and he knew he'd never erase that image from his memory. When it was his turn, Moxon held him close throughout, and to Jim it felt as if they'd reached heaven together. He never wanted to leave their bed.

It was high noon when they woke again, and even Jim conceded they had to address their responsibilities. Their clothes were a bit rank, so they donned them and headed for the ocean, which would at least disguise the worst of it till they had a chance to wash properly. Jim was eagerly anticipating what else they might do there.

He winced when he spotted Ben up to his waist in the water, taking a literal stab at spear-fishing. Ben was drenched but looked quite pleased with himself.

"I caught some!" he exclaimed when he saw Jim and Moxon approach. A second later he seemed to recall why he'd needed to, and did not know where to look. "Silver is cooking them now..."

"Thanks, Ben," Jim said sincerely. "We won't shirk our duties again."

"That's all right."

"Is it?" Jim glanced at Moxon, who politely bowed out. "You've been my friend for many years, Ben. I would hate for that to change. Are we all right?"

Ben perked up again, apparently gratified to be asked. "Yes, Jim, we are."

"You're sure?"

"Your choices are your own. I've no say in them." He nodded in the direction of the fire. "And neither does that one. If Silver asks, you tell him I have no argument with you on the subject."

Relieved, Jim offered his hand and Ben shook it firmly. He then waded back out to conquer his newly-learned skill, leaving Jim to join Moxon at the pool.

Silver didn't confront Jim until shortly before the group met for dinner, at which time he cornered the younger man behind the huts. Jim had finally gone to retrieve the kindling he'd discarded the night before and was adding to it as he made his way back to the beach. He wasn't prepared for Silver to emerge in front of him from among the trees.

"Jim, me boy," the pirate greeted him, "I thought I'd never get you alone."

"What can I do for you, John?" Jim inquired.

"As yer oldest mate, and representing the feelings of yer dear mother--" Silver rephrased himself when Jim cleared his throat pointedly: his 'dear mother' would be horrified to be represented by such a rascal. "As a man of wider experience than yerself, I feel I must speak up. It is clear that you haven't given any thought to yer prospects once we get off this accursed island."

"And you have?"

"I'm looking out for you, Jim, as I always do. This Moxon is not one to get mixed up with. He'll betray you, as he did before."

"You don't know that," Jim broke in, unwilling to hear anymore. "And I don't believe it. You know nothing of the circumstances of his presence on the _Saracen_ , and you know nothing of his true character. I have complete faith in him."

"That's yer wild oats talking, lad. You can't expect what happens here to be the same out there. One day you'll see sense and regret ever letting that Spaniard get under yer skin--"

Jim placed one hand on Silver's shoulder, an unusual enough gesture to shut the man up.

"If by sense, you mean I'll love him less, you're wrong," he said very seriously. "I don't expect you to understand, John, but if you're really a friend, you'll respect my choice. I won't listen to you slander him."

Silver had actually run out of words, a rare occurrence. His face for once reflected no guile, and Jim waited warily for his honest opinion.

"I don't trust him, and I never will," Silver finally admitted. "But you're no poor judge of a man's worth, so there must be something in him to deserve yer regard. I just hope he never proves you wrong."

"He won't."

"So be it."

"You'll not whack him with an oar again?" Jim asked, accompanying Silver to camp at his own deliberate pace.

Silver's toothy smile appeared through his beard. "I can't promise you that, me boy."

Jim had to grin too; he planned to recommend to Moxon that he whack him right back.

Dinner could not end soon enough. After reacquainting themselves physically in the relative privacy of their hut, Jim settled comfortably atop Moxon and gazed down at him. He'd found that if he clasped his partner's hands on either side of his head, he could kiss him at his leisure. There was no sadness in Moxon's eyes, and Jim made sure it stayed that way all night long.

Next day they reclaimed their jobs providing food, while Ben tended the fire and Silver did whatever it was he did to pass the time. For most of the morning Jim jabbed at fish at random, too aware of the man standing a few feet away to really care whether he speared any of them. Moxon kept looking up and smiling, which wiped all other thoughts from his mind.

"While your inattention is flattering," Moxon finally remarked when Jim let a fish wiggle right off his stick, "we don't want to be out here all day. We have better things to do."

"Absolutely," Jim agreed. He splashed over to Moxon and pulled him in for a kiss. When the other failed to return it with full enthusiasm, he pulled back with a frown. Moxon was scanning the beach for witnesses. "It's all right. They know about us."

"That doesn't mean we should flaunt ourselves," Moxon murmured.

Jim almost disagreed, but his partner was serious, and he had been living with his secret longer. He presumably had good reason to be circumspect.

"You said you learned discretion once you went to sea," Jim observed back in their hut during the afternoon lull. Despite the heat, they'd come together like magnets, curling up naked on one of the pallets. "Was there more to it?"

"Not the way you mean." Moxon's arms were around Jim's waist and he spoke softly into Jim's ear. "Senor Cordova had warned me not to be obvious in Cadiz, and I learned why as soon as I arrived. There were stories of fellows who'd revealed their preferences. The other sailors didn't consider them men. They used them as they wished, forcing those men to leave the service. Men like that… like me, were not welcome unless they hid their tendencies."

Jim digested that for a moment. "I'm sorry. I had no business dictating how open you should be.   I won't do it again."

"We're relatively safe here, but if we're rescued, you won't want everyone to know. Believe me."

"You're right, of course. I wasn't thinking." He brought Moxon's hand to his lips and kissed it. "I'll follow your lead in this." Moxon didn't reply, but his embrace tightened. Jim added, "Actually, your reserve does you credit. You would have made a fine Englishman."

That won a pleased chuckle, which was all Jim wanted.

It was next morning while they were catching fish in a much more efficient manner that Ben began shouting. At first he was unintelligible, then his frantic gestures towards the water made sense: there was a ship just within sight on the horizon. It was too far out to identify, but there was no doubt it was heading toward the island.

"Oh my God," Jim breathed. He grabbed Moxon's hand and pulled him to shore. Ben had roused Silver from his hut, so the four of them gathered there, waving and straining to make out details.

"Can you see what flag she's flying?" Silver asked the question on all their minds.

"Not English…" Ben said, squinting into the sun. "Not Spanish neither."

"French," Moxon announced, and Jim could hear the relief in his voice. He was glad too not to have to deal with political issues immediately.

He was about to say as much to Moxon, then noticed that his partner had turned away from the beach. Jim followed him to their hut, where he found Moxon putting on his boots and red jacket. Despite the condition of his clothing, he once again resembled the first mate who'd plotted to ambush the _Saracen_. Jim was taken aback.

"I'm guessing they've found us by chance," he said casually, picking up his own tattered blue coat. "Even if Captain Parker and Vanderbrecken have already made it to safe harbor, they wouldn't have sent a French vessel for us."

"It doesn't matter," Moxon stated. He halted in the doorway, looking out. Over his shoulder Jim could see the frigate slowly sailing closer. When he spoke again, Moxon's voice sounded as distant as the ship. "I'd hoped for more time."

"Time? Here?" Jim frowned. "I would say we've spent more than enough time here."

Moxon nodded. He left the hut without looking at Jim, and rejoined Silver and Ben on the beach. They'd also collected any possessions they'd landed with. Silver in particular was fidgeting more than customary, and Jim suddenly understood.

"We'd best get our stories straight," he declared. When all three faced him with similar confused expressions, Jim explained rapidly. "John, you are a convicted felon. Moxon's status is unknown, but subject to various accusations. I say our rescuers don't need to know any of this. If we choose to overlook some of the more incriminating details, then that is our decision to make."

"What?" Ben asked. The others looked more thoughtful.

"We each have our own business to attend to. I don't wish to be delayed by a criminal investigation of any sort, as I'm sure none of you do. The plantation in Jamaica is awaiting me, and I realize now that I will need a second agent there to share the work, someone who is familiar with large estates, as I am not--"

"You'll overlook his treachery?" Silver demanded with a scowl at Moxon. "He murdered one of the crewmen in cold blood, if ye'll recall--"

Jim almost didn't recognize his strategy, but he caught a glint in the reprobate's eyes. "I also recall that you killed the cook, John Silver," he replied. " _And_ organized a mutiny. I don't hear Moxon insisting you face justice."

"Jim, what are you saying?" Moxon asked.

"I'm saying that there's nothing stopping us from going our separate ways." Jim was still focused on the pirate. "John has an island to locate. Ben…"

"I'm thinking I'll be returning to England, if it's all the same to you," Ben offered.

"I can't very well locate me island without the map," Silver pointed out.

"It's yours," Jim told him. He hadn't thought the man's smile could stretch any wider, but it did, displaying every one of his teeth. "On the condition our paths never cross again."

Silver patted his pocket where the map in question resided. "You'll never set eyes on your old shipmate again, Jim. You have me word."

Jim knew what that was worth. With a salute, Silver escorted Ben to the water's edge. Jim glanced at the oncoming vessel, then turned to Moxon, not sure what to expect. .

"You want me to go with you to Jamaica?" Moxon deduced once they were alone. He looked as bewildered as he had when Jim had first shown him mercy.

"Of course. That's where I'm going and…" Jim cut himself off upon having a horrid thought. Despite Moxon's reluctance to display their relationship to others, Jim reached out and stroked his hair, fearful it would be his last chance. "Do you not wish to go with me?"

Moxon not only allowed the caress, he returned it. "I will go with you anywhere, if you want me."

"How could you doubt it?" Jim's heart started beating again. He met his lover's eyes and read their uncertainty. "Don't you believe me yet? There will be no Isabellas. You're the one I want to share my life with, come hell, high water, or any repercussions from Parker and Vanderbrecken."

"I believe you." Moxon's voice was soft. He kissed Jim on the mouth before pulling back. "Stephen will happily go to Jamaica with you."

"Stephen Hawkins and his cousin James," Jim agreed, grinning.

He turned from Moxon to study the foreign craft. It was almost near enough to lower a dinghy now, and uniformed figures could be seen congregating on deck to gaze towards the island. When Jim and the others waved, the figures waved back. They seemed friendly enough, and between them, Jim supposed the castaways would be able to communicate with a shipload of Frenchmen. One way or another he and Moxon would make it to Jamaica. Some day, God willing, they might return to England. In the meantime he exchanged a private glance with his lover and prepared to begin a new adventure, one that would hopefully not involve any more pirates, mutinies, or treasure maps. 

 


End file.
